I bend to be formed,

not torn or broken

but tempered by heat,

a fire so hot the white

is all You see of me.

I said change and grow

and I’m bent so low

this shape of me is

melting brass forged

by tools so strong

I fear the breaking.


But I’m bound to bend,

be shaped, sheared sound,

let this shine of me

play gleaming glory,

become the beautiful

breath of sudden

notes quickened by

Spirit, living tune played

through me, a golden

song borne on the

honeyed breeze of dawn.


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